Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When Ronan’s mouth brushes my neck, it’s barely contact at all. More like a breath that accidentally touched the wrong place. But my body doesn’t care how small the touch is — it reacts like a match to gasoline.

Every instinct I have presses me forward, throat bared, offering more.

He jerks back like he’s been shocked.

The space between us fills with his hard breathing and my poor attempts to control mine. His chest rises and falls once, slow and deep, like he’s reminding himself how.

“That,” he says, voice low and frayed at the edges, “was a mistake.”

I take in the way his shoulders are locked and tense, the way his eyes track every inch of me while he forces the rest of his body to stay still. He’s huge, solid muscle and sharp edges, all of him carved for war — and completely naked.

Not a single scrap of clothing.

Nothing to distract from the fact that he’s meant to be feared. Or the fact that he is very, very male.

Heat flares under my skin and I fight not to show it.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“I’m cold,” I lie.

We both stare. We both know the truth — the flush across my chest, my uneven breath, the tightening in my legs. This isn’t cold. This is the start of something else.

Ronan’s gaze darkens, and he looks away like he’s punishing himself for even noticing.

“You’re hours from your heat hitting full force,” he says. “If I stay close to you right now, I will forget every reason I’m supposed to stay away.”

It’s the closest he’s come to admitting he wants me. The knowledge does something dangerous to my thoughts.

“I can handle myself,” I say.

“No,” he answers immediately, like he’s shutting a door before I can even try to push it open. “Not like this. Your body is about to override your mind. And I’m cursed.” His jaw tightens. “I can’t risk contact.”

He turns and walks toward the doorway — and I hate that the movement pulls my attention lower, to the strong line of his back, the cut of his hips, the way his ass—

I force my eyes up. “I need to train,” I say, because focusing on wanting him is a terrible idea. “I need to learn how to fight back.”

“You will.” His voice steadies, control snapping back into place. “After your heat. You’ll be useless until it passes.”

“I hate that.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t mean it as comfort. It still works like one.

He gestures for me to follow him out of the room. “Come. You need to rest before your judgment disappears entirely.”

That’s insulting. Unfortunately, also fair.

The walk down the corridor feels longer than it is. Ronan stays half a step ahead of me, never looking back, because if he sees one more flicker of heat in my eyes, he might not trust himself.

We descend a set of carved stairs into the heart of the fortress. The deeper we go, the warmer the stone becomes. Torches burn low, casting shadows that stretch and melt with each step.

“This is a dungeon?” I ask, because it certainly feels like one.

“It’s a warded chamber.” His tone is factual, not defensive. “Built for situations like this.”

“Situations like… an omega running from state-sponsored murder games and crashing into a cursed alpha’s territory?”

He pauses. Turns his head just enough that I see the edge of a smirk.

“Exactly like that.”

I huff out a breath — not a laugh, but close.

We reach a heavy reinforced door, bolted and sealed with markings I don’t understand. He pushes it open, and I step through…

…and stop.

This isn’t what I pictured.

Warm firelight glows from a stone hearth. Thick rugs cover the floor. The bed is enormous — more like a pile of comfort disguised as furniture. Soft blankets. Deep pillows. Even a small table with fresh water.

It’s cozy. Safe. Meant for someone to survive something difficult.

“You planned this,” I say quietly. “For me?”

Ronan shakes his head once. “For anyone who crosses that border in heat and doesn’t die from my curse.”

“Oh.”

That lands differently — heavier.

He steps inside but stays near the door, blocking the exit through sheer presence.

“You will stay here,” he says. “The walls are strengthened. Your scent won’t seep out. The door will lock. You won’t be able to break it. I won’t be able to break in if I—” He cuts himself off.

I finally get onto the bed. The mattress is soft and deep, swallowing me up. My body relaxes faster than my brain will allow.

Ronan stands in the doorway, a wall of muscle and tension.

“If you need anything,” he says, “I’ll hear you.”

“And if I scream?” I don’t know why I ask. Maybe I’m afraid of what this heat will do to me. Maybe I want to know how far his promise goes.

His voice is steady when he answers:

“Then I stay. Right here. Until it’s over.”

No judgment. No discomfort. Just certainty.

That’s worse somehow. It makes my chest ache.

He reaches for the door but pauses. His hand tightens around the handle like walking away is a fight he’s barely winning.

“Goodnight, Lyra.”

I want to say goodnight back.

What comes out is a breathless, “Ronan—”

He shuts the door before I can finish.

The lock slides home. Quiet, but final.

I sink deeper into the bed as warmth creeps through my blood, low and insistent. My heartbeat echoes in places I don’t want to think about.

Sleep drags me under before I can stop it.

And the very last thought I have is this:

He’s right outside.

He’s trying so hard not to want me.

And when this heat fully hits…

I won’t make it any easier for him.